When I was a child, someone painted the moon up there in the sky, but I don’t know who, and I don’t know why. Maybe there was no reason for it, just the idea, the thought of a moon to see, a moon to pull the tides and light up the night.And that’s fine. The sky is a canvas.
Death is that moment the river of your blood flooded and rose so high that it covered your name. Your name washed away in a river of blood. How about that? Life is that moment when you choose to toss away your name without replacing it, and just go on, nameless. That’s a good one, too. Friend, when the flood recedes, try just to breathe. Try just to be present, in the moment. Your life is your own. And any moment could easily be your last.